Mirage
by kamelion
Summary: Rodney finds that things aren't always as they seem. Or are they? Thanks to Ellex for the beta, and to the people at SGAHC for helping me though some stubborn loading problems! Apparently the paragraph breaks didn't go through in later chapters, growl
1. Chapter 1

The jungle was humid and calm. The huts were small and nondescript, with the exception of one large structure. The large room within was filled with laughter, the jovial celebration not so much floating in the air as weighing it down with noise. It was almost too much to bear, not really relaxed yet not forced. More like a place where having a good time was to be expected, therefore everyone was doing their part. In short, it was a situation where the newcomers were being scrutinized, and the hosts were being judged.

None of which mattered to Rodney at the moment. He was curled over the table, his food half eaten and his body giving him hell. "Oh god," he groaned as he placed his hand on his throbbing stomach. "I can't even contemplate eating another bite. I don't even want to hear the word."

"What word?" Major John Sheppard teased, leaning in and waving what resembled a chicken leg casually in the air. It was one thing to see a friend in pain. It was another to relish in it, knowing full well that pure idiocy caused the discomfort in the first place.

The aroma caught, and Rodney blanched. "You know."

"What, this?" John let the leg hover before Rodney's nose before thumping it back onto his plate.

Rodney grimaced and swallowed heavily. "You're an ass," he forced out.

But John was just getting started. After all, it had been a long day. There was good food, good wine, and good company to pick on. "Why on earth would food bother you? I mean you of all people should appreciate the palatable splendor that this culture has to offer."

"Can it, major." Rodney squinted his eyes in annoyance and puffed in his cheeks as he held in a belch. "Oh god. This isn't good."

"Should I tell everyone to vacate?" John continued to tease. He'd caught Teyla's eye, who had been watching Rodney's reactions for the past several moments and was looking distinctly worried.

"No, no, I'll be fine, I'll just . . . go outside for a minute and, you know, get some fresh air."

"Just be sure to leave some for the rest of us, okay?" John said to his back as Rodney pasted on a crooked smile for his hosts and pushed his way outside. John shook his head in amusement as Teyla took the now vacant seat beside him.

"Is Dr. McKay quite all right?" she asked softly. She smiled at their gracious host through her question, tilting her head slightly toward John to allow for privacy.

"Oh, sure, you know Rodney. For someone who loves and relies so heavily on food for his well-being, it isn't being well back to him."

She glanced at the door behind them. "Should one of us go and see to him?"

"I really don't think that's such a good idea right now," John drawled, and his grimace told Teyla all she needed to know. She raised a brow, and gave an understanding nod.

"Man's got farts that would destroy a hive ship," Ford said around a chunk of meat. "You ever been in the puddlejumper when. . ."

"Yes, Ford, thank you." John cut him off and glanced down at his near empty plate. Not much chance of finishing it now.

Teyla cleared her throat and faced the chubby man seated at the head of the table who was watching them with great interest. "Misner Caugh, your provisions are most excellent. I only hope what we offer is equal in exchange."

"As do I, Teyla," Misner Caugh said pleasantly. His double chin flapped as he spoke, his eyes were shining over his drumstick. "The rainy seasons here are becoming more and more frequent, and it is becoming more and more difficult to grow our crops, as they suffer increasing risks at being washed away. I hope the land you offer on your planet is as fertile as you claim."

John eyed the plates on the large banquet table, finding it hard to believe they were in as dire need of fresh land as they claimed. Judging from the variety of foods, not to mention the rather overweight condition of the host, John found himself hard pressed not to suggest they simply got off their asses to find drier lands. He swallowed his words with the last of the bread as Teyla, ever the diplomat, said, "We have hardly been on Atlantis long enough to understand the full growing seasons of the planet, but I believe you will find our lands suitable. We would be more than happy to provide fields in exchange for some of the produce. We will even help to transport it back to your planet." She smiled, and John found himself wondering how it was that she never had to pick food out from between her teeth.

"And if you will excuse my asking," Misner Caugh wiped his large mouth with a cloth, "but I am sure you will understand, how can we trust you?"

Teyla smiled. "The only way you can trust us, is to simply commit to doing so." She gestured to John. "These people have been amongst our stars for only a short time. In that time they have earned my complete trust. They have only their survival to gain, and everything to lose. There is no other motive, except to provide for their people."

Misner Caugh faced John. "Hrmph. Your world was destroyed?"

"Oh. Uh," John straightened and shifted in his chair. "No. No, it wasn't."

Misner Caugh frowned, his thick brows almost obscuring his dark eyes. His pitted skin furrowed. "Then why did you leave? Was there sickness?"

"No, no sickness. Nothing threatened our world, just ourselves." He glanced at Ford, who nodded in impressed agreement.

"I see. So. . .you seek to threaten another world in restitution?" His tone was one of puzzlement, not accusation.

"Uh. . . heh." He gave a weak laugh. Considering the events since their arrival in the Pegasus galaxy, John had little reason to question the accuracy of the statement. He leaned forward, his hand palm upwards as though to physically offer an explanation. "No, see, the people that built Atlantis, they're our ancestors. We traveled to this galaxy to learn more about them," he looked to Teyla, who gave a nod of approval, ". . .and to explore other cultures."

"Ah. . ." Misner Caugh nodded. "Then you are 'letgno anala'. The wandering intellect."

John raised his chin as the odd words sailed over him. He tried to catch them, but couldn't. "Something like that. And speaking of intellect," he stood slowly and gave a polite nod, "my colleague was feeling a little under the weather, I should probably go out and check on him." He smiled disarmingly. He had no intention of sitting there while Teyla and Misner Caugh batted around their whimsical political debates, especially when he was, well, there was something about Minser Caugh that disturbed him. Probably his table manners. Either way, Rodney's condition was the lesser of the two evils, and to be truthful, it was possible he was just a tad bit . . . curious . . .as to his welfare.

"Good luck with him, sir," Ford muttered. "Personally I wouldn't wish that on the Wraith."

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The night was darker than he was used to. Stars blanketed the sky in the absence of a moon, and while they shone brightly, it wasn't enough to fight through the thickness of trees. The yellow firelight shining from the small huts was the only thing that lit the area as he walked out, and looked around. He found Rodney with his head down, one hand braced against a bent tree. The man was sweating and pale in the dim light, and shaking. It was obvious he had been violently ill.

John walked to him, his friend's condition alarming him. He'd had thought Rodney was either blowing hot air, from which end didn't matter, or he was just a little sick- feeling. Curiosity turned rapidly into concern. "You okay?"

Rodney quickly looked up. "Hm? Oh, Major." He looked at the ground around his feet self-consciously. "I, uh, lost most of what they fed me, so watch where you step."

Sage advice. John's eyes darted downwards. "Well, good news. Looks like that's on the menu from now on."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Rodney pushed himself upright, and swayed uneasily.

John frowned. "You really don't look so good. I mean, you look worse than usual."

"You wound me."

"Maybe we should get you back through the gate."

"I'm fine." He wiped at his brow, rubbed his palm on his shirt. "I think I cleared my system, not to mention the possibility of dislodging vital organs. Are we really getting stuck with that crap?"

"Crap? You ate two plates full!"

"Don't remind me."

"You'd rather starve?"

Rodney looked up sharply. "Right now? Yes."

John just snorted. "You and your delicate system."

"That sounds almost insulting, Major." He winced, and his hand went back to his stomach. "You didn't happen to bring my pack out, did you?" he asked weakly.

"No, why?"

"Antacids."

"Guess the spice didn't help, huh?"

"Dante's inferno has nothing on. . ." his speech halted, and his splayed fingers gripped the bark on the tree he leaned against, "just go and get the pack for me, will ya?" His voice was suddenly smaller, and Sheppard couldn't refuse him, not when Rodney was obviously feeling so poorly.

He knew McKay had been complaining of stomach pain for over a week. Test after test showed nothing more than inflamed stomach lining, which warranted observation and medication, but other than that was fairly painful and harmless. John had warned Rodney as they first entered the banquet not to eat too much, to pace himself, because he knew the man hardly eaten in two days. In fact, Weir was to the point of grounding him from the mission, but the Linsewe boasted of a feast that Rodney wasn't likely to try and pass up, illness notwithstanding.

It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, he was simply scared to eat, and in Rodney McKay that was frightening enough. But the promise of a feast coupled with being confined to the city for nearly a month, catching up on his research that was waylaid by the hive ships approaching, he was ready to be off. He was convinced his stomach problem was merely a result of over work, and the stale air in Atlantis. Beckett couldn't deny the former, questioned the later (especially with the wonderful sea breeze, but there was no arguing with the man while he was in pain), and allowed him two days leave, under Sheppard's supervision, with the understanding that he try to eat. And of course, Rodney had to over eat and get sick. "Look at it this way," John said, returning with the bag, "you got out of listening to the trade agreement."

"Not sure which is worse," Rodney agreed, and fumbled with his pack. He pulled out a small bag and poured the contents into his hand, studied them, then replaced all but two.

"Between this and your motion sickness, you'll wipe us out of medications."

"You'd rather I stay sick? What is this, some kind of obscene test to see how well I can function under extreme duress?"

"I think you can tolerate things better that you let on. Though in this case," he examined McKay's face closely, and even put a hand to his brow, "you look pretty done in."

Rodney swatted it away. "Thanks for that. I've felt better. Now leave me alone. Go make sure Teyla's not trading our puddlejumper for cattle."

"Oh come on, she wouldn't." He smiled. Then a slight look of worry touched his face, and he hurried back.

Rodney managed a smile himself before sagging to the oversized tree roots, his head dropping to his chest.

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The feast continued with no further interruptions. Afterwards, John dragged himself to the tent which he was, rather reluctantly, sharing with McKay. The man wasn't in sight, and the thought to look for him passed only half way though his mind before he collapsed flat on his face. And it seemed, not a moment later, shots rang out.

The noise was that followed was frightening. Rodney wasn't in the tent, and the people outside were _not _happy at all. More like panicked.

John grabbed his gun and peeked out of the tent. The sky was still black, but edged with a deep blue, showing that time had indeed passed once his head hit his makeshift bed. He walked out and was instantly grounded by a body knocking into him. He landed hard on his knees, then flattened himself to the dirt, rolling back to the flap of his tent to avoid the melee rushing about, people knocking into each other, their own feast fires still burning. In the distance he heard scattered gunfire, which brought him back to his knees, his head low. "Ford!" John pushed himself to his feet in a run, shouldering past the crowd in classic football defense. "Ford! Report!"

"Down here, sir!" John glanced to the ground in the distance and saw Lt. Ford huddled over a still form. Teyla? Crap . . .Sheppard ran to them, skidding in the dirt.

"Teyla?" He cupped her smooth cheek in his hand, and looked to the young man for an explanation. They rounded their bodies over her still form, shielding her from the crowd.

Ford was shaking his head. "They just kept coming, sir! I tried to pull her out of the way." He grunted as a knee knocked into his back. A young boy stumbled, and moved on.

John was checking for blood. "She wasn't shot? I heard shots."

"I did too, Sir, it woke me up. Teyla was out here, and people were starting to run."

"No, I mean just now. . ."

"I had to fire my weapon into the air to clear them. People were falling over each other, trampling everyone."

John cradled Teyla's head between his hands. "Where the hell did they get guns?"

"I don't know . . ."

At the moment it was a moot point. "Where's McKay?"

"He wasn't with you?"

The surprise in the young man's voice was not a good sign. "No, he wasn't in the tent when I woke." The people had fled into the jungle, leaving John with an armload of Teyla, a missing scientist, and a very bad feeling. "You have no idea why they suddenly went nuts?"

"Not unless it was the gunfire from earlier. Look, shouldn't Dr. McKay be here?"

"Yes, he should." John sighed and shifted the Athosian. "Here, get her to the gate while it's clear, she needs medical attention. I'll stick around and see if I can find Rodney."

"I'm sorry I couldn't. . ."

"It isn't your fault, Ford, now just get her to Carson, okay? I'll be in touch."

"Yes sir." Ford shouldered his rifle and with John's help, lifted the woman. She was Ford's height and almost more muscled. Getting her to the gate would be a chore.

John ran to his tent and secured his pack and weapons. All of Rodney's things were there, untouched. Another bad sign.

He shouldered his own belongings and launched into the jungle.


	2. Chapter 2

She always loved a mystery. When she was little she wasn't Dr. Elizabeth Weir, far from it, the last thing she wanted to be was a civilian liaison to the military. She didn't even know a person could be a doctor and not go into medicine. No, after she decided she wasn't going to be the next Amelia Earhart, or prima ballerina to Mikhail Barishnikov, or the next Dorothy Hamill, she chose the next best thing.

She wanted to be a heroine in an Agatha Christie novel. 

For years mysteries filled her bookshelves, read so many times that they fell apart into yellowed leaflets. Once she had chosen her profession, she had inadvertently realized her dream. Her work did have a bit of mystery about it, always trying to figure out what the other person really meant, what they really wanted. Now, here on Atlantis, she was free to work on an abundance of mysteries at one time, enough pleasure to allow her to disregard the few battered novels she had with her, and focus on the current problem in the form of a young woman lying on the infirmary bed.

Teyla was bruised, but not severely. Dr. Carson Beckett, resident medical miracle worker, had been more concerned with the internal bleeding, but after what he called a minor procedure, and what Weir called downright disgusting, she was healing. She looked pale. Such a young, robust, healthy complexion had no business looking so ill. "Is there any news from the planet?" she asked quietly.

"Not yet, no." Carson checked the drip from Teyla's IV. "I've not heard a word since Teyla was brought in. How is Lt. Ford?"

"Feeling loads of undeserved guilt."

"Did he say what happened?"

"All he said was that the town went crazy, and people started running. Teyla was crushed in the crowds." She leaned over slightly and rubbed the Athosian's arm, trying to imagine a hoard of people that could take down the warrior unawares.

"Trampled near to death would be a better description, but she is strong. I do believe she'll heal quickly." Beckett glanced around and leaned his head close to Elizabeth's. "I don't mind telling you, it's almost a relief. Now I know she's human, so to speak."

Weir jerked back, surprised, then smiled in understanding. "Coming from anyone else, that comment would seemed almost macabre."

"Aye, but you know what I mean."

She did. It was a medical observation laced with humor. Teyla was rarely injured, to the point of his accusing her of carrying a secret invisible shield much like what Rodney had discovered shortly after their arrival on the station. He had treated Ford numerous times, and Sheppard on occasion, and poor Rodney seemed to be on his permanent guest list. But when he'd learned that the injured party was Teyla, and the degree to which she was injured, he was stunned into silence and had to force himself to move. The care with which he straightened her blanket and smoothed back her hair spoke volumes. Weir left him to his ministrations.

Ford was just outside, sitting in the "oh shit" chair. It was a unforgiving metal chair that had been placed just outside the door to allow concerned friends to wait for news of the injured or sick with being underfoot. There was no waiting room. No one knew who initially placed the chair there, but no one had bothered to move it, nor had they bothered to add another chair to it. It remained solitary, almost poignant. It was an unwritten rule that anyone sitting in the "oh shit" chair was obviously under duress, and as such should be left alone. But as Weir came around the corner Ford jumped to attention, his young face carved in concern. "How is she?"

His question was the "oh shit" override. "Aiden, she'll be fine." Elizabeth took the young man's arm and guided him away from the door. He looked better, less panicked, less shocked. "Have you been able to recall exactly what happened?"

His nod was small, but firm. "Yes ma'am, now that I've had time to think, it's a little more clear. The events I mean, I still don't know why it happened."

"Do you feel like meeting me in my office in ten minutes?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Did you get something to eat like I asked?"

Ford managed a smile, which turned back the clock on his features to near prepubescent. "I'm okay Dr. Weir, really. I'll meet you in ten."

"I'll be waiting." Weir gave him a reassuring nod, glad to see the unpleasantness of events fading from his face. The walk down the hall seemed longer than usual; even so she had no recollection of entering the control room. There was no bustle, everyone worked calmly.

Technician Lorenz looked up, his hand to his headset. "Dr. Weir! Major Sheppard just called in."

"It's about time." She tapped her headset. "Major? What's going on?"

The voice came across more clearly than she expected. "I guess Lt. Ford filled you in?"

"Barely. What can you tell me?"

"Well, the people here have calmed down a bit, but I still don't know what happened. We had a feast, slept, then everyone went nuts. How's Teyla?"

"She had to have her arm set, but so far Dr. Beckett can find no major internal damage. She should be fine. Will you be returning now?"

"Uh. . .not yet." She didn't like the hesitation in his voice. "There's a bit of a problem."

"What is it?"

"Rodney seems to have disappeared."

Huge leaves slapped at Rodney's face as he ran. He had no idea where he was going, and could care less. He just wanted to get away from the angry mob that had suddenly turned on him faster than the prosecution at OJ's trial. It was insanity; one minute he was asleep, he wasn't even sure he had made it to his own bed but he vaguely remembered being covered, and the next minute he was on his feet and running, and his stomach was hating him for it. The humidity made breathing difficult. The deeper into the jungle he ran, the wetter he became. In some oddly serene back corner of his mind he felt concern for bodily stench, and hoped his deodorant would hold out. It wasn't until the raging voices behind him ebbed and his lungs were ready to explode that he doubled over, gasping for air, cursing his aching ribs. He collapsed to his knees, hands to the moist soil beneath him. Sweat dripped down his nose, tickling, but he didn't bother to wipe it off. That simple motion required more effort than he was willing to put into it. His breathing gradually eased, allowing him to plop on his backside and study the trees around him. He realized that, rather than following a path, he had pretty much trail-blazed one. And not being a tracker, the odds of finding his way back was pretty slim, not that he wanted to return. Not just yet. Those damned bloodthirsty rags of people had already done him in once, he wasn't allowing it again. His stomach cramped and he groaned and curled his arm around it. Fuck, wasn't this over with? Hadn't he suffered their evil dishes enough? He was surprised there was anything left in him to hurt.

He managed to crawl through the lush plant life and hide himself within the folds of branches that supported huge paddle shaped leaves. There was no way his body would let him go anywhere. He was perfectly willing to accept that.

Teyla Emmagen opened her eyes, and tried not to gasp at the unfamiliar pain she was suddenly feeling. White lights glared down at her, and a form quickly shadowed it. "How are you feeling?"

She winced, not certain she was seeing clearly. "Dr. Beckett?" 

"Aye. How are you feeling?"

She was confused. She remembered noises, and yelling. She remembered standing still, then falling to her knees, the weight of the people crushing her as they stepped on her in their haste. "How did I get here?"

"Young Lt. Ford carried you." Carson sounded impressed. "He was bound and determined to get you here in one piece."

"Did he succeed?" Because she was feeling quite disjointed.

There was a smile in his voice. "He did. You've suffered some injuries, and you'll be sore for a while, but you'll make a full recovery." He patted her hand soothingly. 

"What of the others?"

"Aiden is fine. Major Sheppard is still on the planet."

She turned her head gingerly. "Was a reason given for what happened? Was there an attack?" She hated lying there. She hated being a victim.

"We don't know what happened, nothing's been said as of yet. The Major is still investigating back on the planet."

"I see." She turned her head again, then frowned. "Nothing has been said of Dr. McKay."

"That. Yes, well . . ." he took a seat on the side of her bed, "Major Sheppard is looking for him."

Teyla started to sit up, and was pressed back down. "He is missing?"

"For the moment."

"Then I must go and help. "

She knew that look. She'd seen it used on Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard, and braced herself against the anger she felt rising in her gut. "Now Teyla, you are in no condition, and you know that. Lt. Ford will be returning shortly, and depending on the news that the Major sends back, we have two teams ready to assist. What you need is your rest. You'll be up and about soon enough."

Teyla was adamant. "Dr. Beckett, Dr. McKay is a part of my team. I am sure you can understand when I say that I must go back and assist with the search."

"Aye, love, I do understand. But my answer is still no."

"But we do not know what caused these people to run! There could be danger . . ."

"Teyla," Carson leaned over her, not allowing her to try and push up from the bed again, "Rodney and I go back a ways. As annoying as he is, and he's a downright bugger at times, he's still a very good friend. Do you not think I want to join in the search as well? Trust me when I say that I understand your frustration."

Teyla backed down. Her posture showed that his words has taken hold. "Forgive me. I am so used to being a part of the team that I forget how hard it must be to just. . .wait."

Carson gave a heavy sigh. "I've grown used to it. Doesn't mean I like it one bit." He rose. "They may very well need you, and I want you out there, but not yet. Besides, the major's a pretty resourceful fellow. If anyone can find Rodney, he can. Poor fool probably ran and is caught in the branches of a tree somewhere."

Teyla gave a wry smile. "He does have a talent for the extraordinary."

"It suits him. Do you need something for pain?"

"I am fine."

"Good." Carson smiled. "Rest then. I'll let you know something as soon as I hear word."

Teyla nodded her thanks and closed her eyes. Her face tightened into a frown as the cries of the crowd washed over her memory.

Misner Caugh was no help. For such an excellent host, he suddenly seemed reluctant. "You mean you haven't seen him anywhere?" John stood with his P90 in plain view. Sweat dripped towards his eyes, but he was determined not to wipe it away.

"Your friend probably retreated to the jungle." Caugh wouldn't look John in the eye, and it unnerved him.

"I've been through the jungle. He isn't there."

"The area is vast, you couldn't possibly have covered enough ground." He waved his fat hand around in the air. "There really is no where else to go! I do not understand what you ask of me!"

That was true enough. Rodney had to either be in the village, which he definitely wasn't, or in the jungle, which not only was more likely, but the only other option. "I guess he ran faster than I gave him credit for." Never mind he spent nearly six hours searching. The only logical explanation was that Rodney's sense of direction was as infallible as his magnetic personality, and he was headed away from the village rather than towards it. "How long before the sun sets?"

"Soon."

"You have very short days here."

"Not so much as that, but the rains come." Caugh pointed to the dark clouds over the distant mountain. "See there? It will rain for several days. The clouds thicken the skies."

John sighed. "Oh, that's just great." Now he could look for a miserable, scared physicist with a ruptured stomach and the flu. Maybe he should just leave him to the jungle.

"I would hurry."

Okay, leaving him wasn't an option. "Listen, if he returns, just tell him to stay put, okay?"

"I shall tell him to remain."

"Thank you." John sighed and headed back into the jungle.


	3. Chapter 3

The thunder shook the ground beneath his feet. Rodney raised his face as the skies cracked open and pissed all over him. "Oh, that's just wonderful, thanks! Thanks so much! As if I wasn't miserable enough!" He slumped with a grimace of disbelief and tried to get his bearings. "Okay. Back home the sun rises in the east. Which makes no difference, seeing as how I'm on ANOTHER GODDAMNED PLANET!" He wanted nothing more than to pick up a branch and beat up a tree, but that was beneath him. He was more mature than that. He had three degrees.

It was amazing how much bark chipped away after four good swings. And of course one tiny piece flew into his eye. "Shit!" He covered it with his palm, bent double, and stomped. "Shit! SHIT!" The only thing left to do was to bellow to the approaching darkness, "THIS ISN'T THE LEAST BIT FAIR!" and take a seat in the mud. The storm answered with another clap of thunder.

At least he was no longer soaked from sweat. Maybe his stink would go away.

The rain washed the bark from his eye, but it stung, and he could feel puffiness. Everything around him greyed in sheets of water. There was no way he would be able to find his way about, not in this, and that angered him more. Not that he was finding his way in the first place. Maybe he should have joined that scout troop after all. He voiced his own version to the trees around him.

"Eight basic needs for offworld survival. One, don't drink the water. Two, don't eat the food, bring your own. Well, I lost on both of those counts. Come to think of it, sound like visiting South America. Always thought those Mayans were aliens." He ran his hand over his hair, pressing the water out. "Actually, I think those people still are. Probably migrated to Alabama or something." He flicked his hand. "Married their cousins. That would explain it. They weren't marrying their cousins, they were marrying inside their own race." His face relaxed into thought. "Explains a bit about Canada too, really. Huh." A smile formed. "I never realized that." There was a static pop right in front of him, and an explosion of sound. Rodney tried to become one with the tree behind him. "Enough already! I thought rainforests just got rain, goddammit!" He was never a scout, but he knew now that staying underneath the tree was definitely a bad idea.

Another clap of thunder and the creak of a falling tree reminded him.

It took some time to find the small cave. He fell asleep as soon as he sat, curling miserably around himself.

John's face was upturned to the rain. His eyes were closed tight, and he allowed the droplets to pour over him. His worry was mounting, his fatigue growing, and the light was failing. He knew, after hours of searching, that the best thing to do would be to return to the village and Misner Caugh, and see if Rodney had returned. He wasn't holding out much hope in regards to Rodney's sense of direction, without a scanner in his hand he was pretty much useless when it came down to picking a direction and following it. Like in the puddlejumper, where he refused to fly a straight line, his senses mirrored his own innate desire to be in the center of everything, even if it meant pursuing it. This and his insatiable curiosity were the sole two reasons his mind worked faster than his mouth, and neither ever stopped. He would no doubt have the single minded objective of finding his way back . . . if he weren't distracted.

Sheppard slapped a wet leaf away from his face as he walked, taking his own trail-blazed path back to the village. His socks were soaked. His shoes would squelch if he could hear them. His shirt stuck to his back underneath his vest, which of course, was sodden. At least the inner lining was waterproof; the zipped pockets hadn't allowed any moisture in. Yet. Now if he took a tumble into the river below, it would be a different story.

Had Rodney tumbled into the river?

His voice rose against the thunder, hoarse with yelling. "Rodney? Dammit, answer me!" There was no reply, not that he could hear one. A spark of lightning had him ducking for cover as the tree above him split. The vibration jarred his bones, and it was pure luck that he charged towards another tree as the first one fell, the thick trunk inches from him.

He slid his back down the rough bark of the tree left standing, gasping for breath while telling himself that he should not be where he was, in a thunderstorm. Especially not one of this magnitude. It reminded him of the hurricane that nearly took out his city. Vicious stuff.

He pushed to his feet and took off toward the village before the next bolt could strike.

"Ma'am, I understand what you're saying, but. . ."

"The answer's no, Lieutenant. I'm sorry. But John asked that you remain here until further notice, and after seeing what happened, I'm inclined to agree with him."

He noticed her use of military term, rather than calling him "Aiden", which showed just how serious she was. He didn't give a shit. "Doctor," Ford imitated her formality as he leaned over her desk, "Dr. McKay is missing. Don't you care about that?" It was a low blow, but it was the only option left available to him.

Her eyes burned into his, and he knew his last available option was a really bad one. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you just implied that I don't care about my people," she said in a low voice. "You know I do, which is why, for the moment, you're staying here. When Major Sheppard reports back, I will send help, if and when he requests it. Right now he wants to make certain the situation is secure without people rushing in and out of the gate." Her expression was stone. "Is that understood?"

Ford didn't like it. But he respected Dr. Weir, and the decision of his commanding officer. So with a stiff nod, he complied.

He now had several options open to him. One, work out. Two, go to the infirmary to check on his teammate. Three . . .work out.

His quarters looked as they should for someone his age. Messy. There was no military precision here, only the evidence of a young man in a strange place trying desperately to call it home. His belongings were few, but the room screamed Aiden, from the rumpled sheets to the basketball in the corner. Fitting it into his pack had been a bitch and a half, he actually had to deflate it and con one of the jumper's new maintenance crew to borrow an air pump. Of course the needle was too large, so he had to go to Bobbs in the engineering lab for a rigged replacement. All in all, it took a full day to inflate the basketball, but time well worth the effort. He remembered holding his breath as Bobbs started the massive pump, praying the sudden rush of air wouldn't pop his beloved reminder of earth. Dribbling down the halls of Atlantis was a thrill. The makeshift basketball court kept him sane.

He needed that court now. The last time he played had been before the hive ships were first spotted. He put on a brave face, but after his shift had taken to the court and played hoops to the point of passing out. It was a great distraction.

And even though McKay wasn't the best of friends, far from it, he felt the need for a distraction. Maybe it was because his commander was on a world, alone. Maybe he felt larger things coming his way. Maybe he had a feeling that Aiden Ford was about to grow up.

He kept playing.

Rodney winced and tried to stretch. His muscles and joints ached in protest, his back popped painfully, his feet were numb. He grunted and pulled himself to a seated position, wincing at the effects of middle age on his body. There was no way he should be feeling like this. Sure, he wasn't the perfect picture of health, but he did well enough. Forcing a knee up, he knelt over and unlaced a boot, yanking it off and shaking it. He massaged his foot though the damp sock, then peeled it off. His foot seemed abnormally white, even for his fair complexion. "Too wet, too long," he muttered and rubbed at the puckered skin. "Probably get some kind of alien fungal infection and have my toes fall off." He checked himself. "Well, McKay, that's a pleasant thought. Thanks for that. Yeah. Okay." He pulled the sock back on, ignoring the cold, rather sickening sensation, and laced his boot. Now he had one lukewarm foot and one freezing one.

Wonderful.

He stood slowly, arching backward, groaning and wincing the entire time. He continued his personal tirade as he slumped forward, his shoulders sagging. The sun was out, thankfully, at least he would dry off. Despite his illness, he was feeling a bit hungry. "Well. Guess I could eat a root." He glanced around, then bent down and plucked a radish-looking plant from the ground. He cleaned off the dirt as much as possible, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Who am I kidding?" He looked up. "So I didn't join Scouts Canada, all right? Sue me! They were collecting nuts for badges while I was building goddamn explosives for profit!" A wry look passed over his face as he took in his surroundings. "And which would I rather have right now, huh?" The best thing to do would simply be to walk. His stomach seemed better. Yeah. Walk.

And walk.

And walk.

After two hours of walking, he discovered another cave. The day was hot, and his own sweat prevented any chance of his drying off. He was gummy, smelly, and utterly miserable. Yelling at the jungle had done nothing, yelling at Sheppard had done nothing, yelling for Sheppard had done nothing. And dammit, he had to sit again. So he wormed his way into the cave, and found his own markings.

Well. . .shit.

And to top it off, the sky was darkening with clouds once again.

Rodney could do nothing more than walk out and lean against the large boulder that sat to the right of the opening. Now that he looked around, he recognized the place. "Fatigue must've dulled my senses. Either that or the heat's frying my brain."

It didn't dull his reaction time. He heard a footfall, and a crackle. Hiding was second nature to him, and he ducked behind the boulder. No way was he going into that cave to be trapped by an animal. He reached down and picked up a rock, and crouched, waiting, trembling. The next thing that happened caused him to drop the rock in astonishment. "McKay?" the familiar voice said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Major!" Rodney stood, his eyes wide as saucers, and glanced behind him before stepping out of his hiding place. He rubbed his hands uncertainly on his grungy shirt. "What the . . ." he looked behind him, suddenly questioning reality, "how did you find me?"

"The rank smell of fear," Sheppard smirked, and crossed his arms over the upended butt of his P90. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He patted his chest absent-mindedly. "You?"

"Me? I haven't been lost in the jungle. Thought maybe you got eaten by an iguana or something."

"Really? Have you seen one?" He felt a nervous jump in his stomach.

"No. Doesn't mean they aren't out here though, and hungry." Sheppard smiled. "Let's head back, huh?"

"Sure. Uh, you know the way?" The look Sheppard gave him was all he needed. "Right. Dumb question." He fell into step behind the major, trying to assume a posture of dignity.

"So what the hell happened out there?" Sheppard asked, leading the way.

"Where?"

Sheppard looked back and rolled his eyes. 

"Oh, that. Hell if I know. Lots of screaming, people running, I was nearly trampled to death!" His gaze ran up and down John's body. "Where were you? What about the others?"

"They're back on the station, where I would be if you hadn't tried your disappearing act. Come on."

"Well, excuse me for engaging in a such an outrageous act of self-preservation!" Rodney huffed. Sheppard said nothing. "They're okay though, right?"

"What do you care?" The response was tossed out as a dismissal. "You ran off."

Rodney stumbled and use the motion as a good reason to stop. That, and he wasn't sure he heard what he thought he heard. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"I wasn't so sure! Look, admittedly I was trying to save my ass, who wouldn't? Not to mention, they were practically forcing me out, I couldn't of gone back if I tried!"

"Which you didn't." Sheppard had stopped as well, and faced him squarely. "You didn't even look back, I bet. I bet you just ran as fast as you could."

Rodney folded his arms. "Are you trying to get me to admit to something?"

"What, that you're a fucking coward? We knew that already." Sheppard turned and shoved the large leaves aside in irritation.

"Whoa, wait, waitwaitwait!" Rodney charged ahead and grabbed Sheppard by the arm, wincing as the other man spun and pulled away. "That's a bit crass, isn't it? I mean, coming from you. What's with you, anyway? Something happen to the trade agreement?"

The eyes that met his frightened him, and he suddenly felt like he was holding on to the horn of a bull ready to charge. "What's with me," Sheppard replied in a low voice, sharp as splintered bone, "is you abandoned us. We were lying on the ground, people running on top of us, and you turned tail and fled." He shook his head in disgust, and disappointment.

"I – I'm sorry! Honest, I . . ." Rodney stammered, his hands reaching out to physically offer his apology. "It happened so fast, I didn't realize, I mean I didn't think . . ."

"That's obvious. Let's go." Sheppard stormed off. He didn't even wait for Rodney to follow him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Beckett watched Teyla's sleeping form. Once she woke, he would release her. Light duty, blah blah blah, they all heard it from him before. At times he sounded and felt very much like a broken record. Or a scratched CD. But they just stopped when something was wrong, and he didn't have that option. No, a broken record would have to pass as a analogy. It bothered him that so many of the young soldiers he had to treat were too young to know what vinyl was.

John Sheppard knew. He often bragged about his collection back home, some albums sounding interesting, and some sounding downright dull. They both had a taste for the songs of Johnny Cash, but there it pretty much ended. Still, just the thought of John's having such a massive collection, that he was able to pull out any number of albums and study the covers while listening, read the lyrics on the jacket, be able to fully experience the depth of meaning of owning music . . . Carson envied that. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his own record collection. 

He made a mental note to question John more specifically about his own collection when he returned with Rodney.

And Rodney, now there was a man who should have amazed him with his taste, but didn't. The fact that he was caught listening to Chopin coursed around the city with it's own peculiar reverb, adding to the mystery that was Dr. Rodney McKay. But to Carson's mind, the music suited his friend's manic moods. He was the piano that dominated the orchestra. He was bold, daring, and imaginative. At the same time, he strove for harmony and was able to work with those around him, which was the one feature that redeemed his often corrosive behavior. He may head up things and be the center of the universe, but he instinctively knew the value of other players, even if he didn't want to admit to it.

Of course he would listen to Chopin.

The machine beside him beeped. Carson took note of the reading, making a few quick marks on his chart. Teyla stirred, then fell back into a peaceful slumber. The soft sounds of a thankfully quiet infirmary soothed him, but he still found he wanted to be away. A day off. Out of the small series of rooms. It was different than working back on earth, because he was at home, and these people were his extended family for the most part. There were still many people he hadn't met, or rather couldn't remember meeting. He had checked them all over, to be sure, but to see a person and remember seeing the person were two different things entirely. And there were days, like this one, when things were so quiet and yet there was a bit of a crisis going on that made him itchy. Like he should be doing something other than checking off a bloody chart. But it was his watch, his duty, he'd hit the research labs that evening. Maybe he should reschedule things a bit, get away from the infirmary for a day or two, let Biro or any one of the other capable doctors take over for a bit. It was only natural to get burned out. Of course that would be when Rodney and John . . .no. He wouldn't think on it.

He walked away, quietly humming Chopin to the best of his ability.

Rodney stood still, the rain washing over him in rivers. The surrounding trees were bending under the weight of the water, and he felt their pain. He wiped his hand over his face and bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees. Before him, Major Sheppard stood motionless, glaring at him, thoroughly soaked, water running down his face. He spat around it. "We're lost."

"I'm sorry." Okay, so what he had thought he'd recognized wasn't in fact anything remotely recognizable. Not like one could tell a rock from a stick in this deluge.

John took two steps forward into Rodney's space. "When you want to mess up, you really go all out, don't you? Can't you do anything right?"

Rodney squinted up at him. "Consistently! Just not today." He couldn't breathe. God, he couldn't breathe, his chest felt like lead.

"Then fix it!"

"Oh, come on, what do you want me to do about this, huh?" Anger erupted from Rodney, fueled by his discomfort and growing pain. "Fire the flare I'm about to conveniently pull from my ass?"

"If it weren't for the fact that the natives would think it a sign of the apocalypse, it would be a good idea! Unlike the ones you've had so far!" Sheppard turned and scanned the area.

"Look, I already apologized, like, a thousand times! What do you want, blood? Because if we keep going like this I just might be able to cough some up for you!"

"Stop your whining, McKay."

"Whining?" Rodney fought verbally to regain Sheppard's attention. "You do recall that I have an ailment, right? Well now you can add the flu to it."

"It's your fault."

Rodney stared. "I don't believe this! I'm sick! Where's the compassion?"

"Compassion?" He spun and faced Rodney. "Where was yours back there, huh?"

Rodney rolled his eyes, one hand sneaking up to cup over his stomach. "Are we going there again? Huh? How many times can I apologize?"

"Not nearly enough," Sheppard scathed, leaving a bewildered Rodney to watch as he staked out a path. "This way, come on. Unless you'd like me to carry you."

"Now that's uncalled for," Rodney muttered, though he was really beginning to hurt again, and all this heated discussion, he refused to call it a fight, wasn't helping any. "I thought I knew a faster way, thought I recognized something. Excuse the hell out of me for trying."

"Thinking on your feet as always. Do me a favor. Don't." Sheppard retraced his steps back to Rodney and stood nose to nose with him. Rodney could see the fury rise once again in Sheppard's eyes, and was lost. "That brain belongs in a lab, not out here. You're not quick enough McKay, not spry enough, and your social skills suck!"

"I left because I was ill!" Rodney forced out. "There's no way it had any affect on the trade agreement, and therefore no way you can possibly blame whatever happened on me!"

"You should've stayed on Atlantis!" Sheppard yelled into his face. "You should never leave Atlantis! Why I chose you for off world missions I've no clue, but obviously it was the stupidest decision I've ever made!"

That was it. Rodney broke. He reached out and shoved Sheppard, hard. "Okay, look, back off! I may have made some crappy decisions, but at least I didn't let loose an entire species destined to suck the life out of the universe!"

Sheppard shoved back, and Rodney felt his boots give in the mud. He slipped, landing flat on his back, feeling the impact all the way through his sore stomach. Bile rose in his throat, his stomach was aflame. 

But Sheppard didn't offer a hand up. Concern was a stranger to him. "Look at you," he said coldly, "can't even stand in the mud."

Rodney winced up at him through the rain. "I'm not worthless," he gasped quietly. "I'm the most worthy person in Atlantis."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You came back for me, didn't you?" Rodney pointed at the major, his voice raising. "You could've left me here, but you came back. That means something!" He was desperate for it to mean something. John had been annoyed with him, sure, but never this pissed. Something happened, something his disappearance was responsible for, and the major wasn't talking.

"Weir would have my ass if I didn't come back for you."

"What about all that 'never leave a man behind' stuff you types like to spout?"

Sheppard's voice was like molten lead. "You left a whole team," he said, and continued on.

"I'm – I . . ." Rodney couldn't bring himself to apologize again. He felt fevered, and wasn't sure if it was due to the rain, or his stomach, or the increasing sense of dread he felt. He pulled himself to his feet with a pained grunt, and stumbled behind Sheppard. "You're not going to forgive me for this any time soon, are you?"

"Should I?"

The question took Rodney aback. " – I'd hope so."

Sheppard didn't stop. The rain had soaked his form into one continuos dark color, until he was just a mass moving in front of Rodney. "I could put Radek on the team. But Weir insists I have you."

Rodney blanched. "Major, that sounds remarkably like a threat."

"You know good and well Radek is perfectly capable of going on offworld missions."

"Fumbles McStupid? The man's, I mean he's smart but . . ."

"He's out-thunk you," Sheppard said pointedly over his shoulder.

"Out-thunk? What the hell kind of word is that?" Sheppard said nothing. "You - you wouldn't." He would. There was something decidedly Not Right about the situation, and he was feeling more and more uneasy. "Look, if you want to leave me here, fine! FINE! But don't expect Radek to save your ass, he can't do it!"

"He already has. Several times, and you know it, and you can't stand it. Face it, McKay, you're sunk."

Rodney's chest tightened. There was no way they were having this conversation. No way. Not with John, "What's with you? I thought . . ." he stopped, clamping his lips tight shut.

"Thought what?"

"I thought that, you know," he suddenly didn't want to say it, because maybe he was wrong, oh so wrong, but he forced himself, "that we were – friends. Or something."

Sheppard snorted. "Did you." It was almost an accusation.

"Yes! I mean . . . did I not read that right?" Sheppard turned a cold gaze on him, colder than anything Rodney had ever seen, colder than he thought was possible on that face. And every word that followed stabbed him like a shard of ice. 

"You're a geek, McKay," the major said slowly. "You are a bundle of facts. There was a time where I needed you, sure, but there are other geeks that are easier to get along with, and I don't have to go along and clean up after them!"

Rodney stood motionless, watching Sheppard's retreating back. "I saved your ass," he said. "I SAVED YOUR ASS!" But Sheppard kept walking, and as much as he didn't want to, Rodney had to follow.

"You'll put a rut in the floor." Johnson didn't look up. He didn't have to. He'd been watching Weir's shadow cross over his console countless times, and felt the constant heat and coolness of her close, but passing, presence.

"He should've contacted us by now."

Johnson leaned over and tapped the console to his right. A small display flickered to life. "Reading heavy rain over the settlement. Maybe he's waiting."

"He can still use his radio."

Johnson just nodded. His attention was caught by a flicker, and he laughed. "Speak of the devil. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were a conjurer."

"Put him through!" She took a few steps away, and talked to the air. "Major? What's going on?"

"Lots of rain. Not much else to report."

"Have you located Dr. McKay?"

There was a hesitation. "No not yet. Rain delay, can't see my hand in front of my face out here."

"Should I send through a team?"

"Negative. Once this weather lets up I'll try once more and get back to you. I wasn't able to venture far from the village the first time out."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll find him, Elizabeth. And if I don't, you know I'll send for the calvary."

"Be careful."

She could hear the smile. "As always. Sheppard out."

Weir crossed her arms and saw Ford, who had just entered the disembarkation area. He didn't look pleased.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the walk was silent. Rodney trudged behind Sheppard, bracing himself on the tree trunks as he stepped over large exposed roots. He couldn't remember his initial run through the jungle, trying to get away from the hoards of people closing in on him. To be truthful, he couldn't remember much of anything, just grabbing hands and pressing bodies, and the need to get the hell out of there. Sheppard didn't look back, and Rodney noticed the tension in his back.

Did he really blame him? Did he really hate him that much, was he really that angry? It was inconceivable. Not for this. He didn't do anything wrong.

Right?

Sheppard's burning eyes had seared into his mind. As long as he breathed, he would never, never forget that look, or the fact that he was the cause of it. 

It made him shrink back further, one arm wrapped an increasingly cramping stomach.

He wanted to stop. Needed to. Breathing was hard, he hurt, dammit, all over. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he stopped, retching bile, his body quaking with each heave, his brow salty with sweat. He waited for the arm around him, for his friend to help like he always did. But it never came.

Rodney pushed away from the tree, afraid of losing the only person that could get him back home. An hour later, they were at the edge of the village.

The people slowed their activities, watching warily as he walked toward the center of their small establishment. Probably waiting for him to collapse, he figured, but he was confused by their reaction. No one rushed to help him, and surely he at least looked like crap. Rodney stopped, and suddenly felt a rough shove that put him in the midst of the growing crowd. "Here he is," Sheppard said, and Rodney turned to look at him in astonishment.

The people pounced.

Rodney yelled out in stunned fear as arms grabbed him, dragged him painfully down to his knees, secured his hands behind his back. "Hey, wait! What the . . . Major! Stop them, what are you doing? What are they . . ." he was backhanded, and coughed.

Misner Caugh leaned over him. "You have the madness. You have caused great distress amongst my people, and we must do what is necessary to prevent it spreading." He nodded to two men, who grabbed him by the shoulders and held him still.

"What are you talking about? I'm not mad!" Rodney forced out. He looked to Sheppard for help, but the man just stood there, his arms casually crossed over the end of his weapon. He looked relaxed. 

Rodney didn't understand. Fear tightened his body. His already fuzzy vision became more obscuring.

"You were seen by this man," he pointed a chubby finger at Sheppard, "running through the village. You trampled the children, you had a weapon. You shot it into the air. Do you deny this?"

"Yes! I-I think . . ." he looked at Sheppard. "A little help here?"

Misner Caugh waddled over to Sheppard, and tilted his head back toward Rodney. "This man denies it. Do you say it's true?"

Rodney held his breath as the major considered. His eyes were narrowed at Rodney, and he almost looked amused, as if to say, 'let your brain get you outta this one, punk'. He gave a solid nod. "Yes." He looked the bound man in the eyes. "It's all true."

Rodney's mind stopped, then and there. Sheppard? John? There was no reason for this, for him to just lie . . ."No! No, it's-it's . . . I never did that!" Rodney yelled. "Trampled kids? It's true I can't abide them, but I'd never . . . Sheppard, tell them!" The man just watched him. Rodney looked around for a sympathetic face, but there was none, and he knew he was in trouble. "Dammit, say something!" he hissed.

But Sheppard just shrugged. "Sorry, Rodney." 

"Whoa– wh-sorry-you – I . . ." Rodney could only sputter as a feeling of dread grabbed him. This was a ploy. Surely it was a ploy. Something had happened, and this was a part of the plan, and Sheppard would get him out of this. He begged his friend with his eyes, trying to look through the disguise, trying to see what Sheppard was really up to. Because there was no way this was happening. His friend would never turn on him, not for a mistake. "Major, please. Tell them there's been a mistake."

Sheppard continued to look down his nose at Rodney. "No," he said flatly. "There's been no mistake."

Rodney just shook his head, slowly, then more quickly. "No. NO! You fucking liar, what the hell are you doing to me?" He tried to stand, but the men behind him wrestled him into submission.

Misner Caugh stood before him once he was still. "You deny this?"

"Yes! Completely and totally yes!"

"Then you have called this man a liar. This is a serious accusation. Do you know him to tell the truth, or not?"

This was bad. Things were going too fast, and from bad to worse. He was dizzy and ill, no one was helping him, no one cared. Rodney glared at Sheppard, who looked back calmly. There were no facial clues, nothing to tell Rodney to hang in there. This was real. He really was trying to get rid of him. Rodney's expression settled from realization, to calm, to cold. "No," Rodney said quietly, "I don't know. I guess I don't know him."

"Then you say his words are false."

He had no idea what to say. "Yes." Sheppard was giving no cues. He stood there his face growing colder by the minute. Come on, Rodney thought, throw me a bone here!

There was a commotion behind him, and three men hurried forward. They snatched Sheppard's weapon away, and pulled him to stand about ten feet from Rodney. Those hazel eyes never left Rodney's, even when the confiscated gun was aimed at Sheppard, point blank at his chest.

"This is the worst accusation to befall my people," Misner Caugh said gravely, "to be accused of a falsehood, and especially to wrongly accuse another. Such a person is not worthy of our presence, or yours."

The tables had turned too rapidly for Rodney, and he tried desperately to hang on. John stood still, his arms held behind him, the gun shoved against his breastbone. Rodney's eyes flashed from Sheppard's to Caugh's. "Look," he said desperately, "he's not of your people, so the rules don't apply. Just let us go and we'll pretend this didn't happen." Or sort it out back on Atlantis, which would amount to a quick transfer on his part.

He was startled to see a moment of clarity. Misner Caugh suddenly looked more real to him, to the point where he wanted to reach out to him. "The madness continues to speak." Misner Caugh nodded and turned, waving his arm to the people who had gathered. "You see what the madness brings. He babbles, he makes no sense. You understand what must be done to prevent this from spreading to our children. Are we in agreement?" There was a positive chorus, with a few fists pumped into the air. Rodney stared until the scene blurred again.

Misner turned. "Kill him" he said calmly.

The weapon was aimed, and fired right into Sheppard's chest.

He jerked back in surprise, his body jolting under the impact, and fell into an unmoving heap.

Rodney started to hyperventilate. He screamed around it, forcing air deep into his lungs, twisting under the grip of the men who held him, straining at the ropes around his wrists, yelling so loudly and deeply it hurt . . .

Sheppard lay still, his eyes unseeing, thick blood pooling and spreading from his body.

The gun was aimed at Rodney, and he closed his eyes, and prayed for death.

"Stop! Drop it now!"

Rodney was bent double on his knees, waiting for the shot. He looked up to see not a gun, but a knife pointed at him, ready for a downward plunge. Wincing, confused, he blinked rapidly and heard the voice again.

"I said, drop it!"

The voice. . . it wasn't possible. The knife landed on the ground. Rodney's breath quickened. He looked to his left, but Sheppard's body wasn't there.

He closed his eyes tightly, gasping. His stomach reeled, his head ached, dammit, he didn't understand . . . he swallowed thickly and tried to stay conscious.

Scuffed footsteps approached him, and he felt his guards release their hold. Rodney slumped forwards, then fell back to his heels, his eyes still closed, confusion marring his brain. Maybe they shot him already. Maybe he was dead. He shook his head lightly.

"No! Dammit, back off, I'll do it. I said, back off! Is this the way you treat all your guests?"

Rodney had stopped gasping for air, stopped breathing all together. His eyes flew open as he felt hands on his, and he jerked away violently, landing hard on his side, scooting away from the ghost that hovered over him.

The ghost reached out, and Rodney yelled.

"Rodney!" John frowned, falling to his knees, his weapon hanging by a strap. "Rodney? It's okay, you're okay, I found you, christ, what'd they do to you?" He looked up, and his voice grew in anger. "What did you do to him?"

"It is the madness," Misner Caugh said. "We do not wish it here."

"What madness?"

"The madness that caused this."

"This . . .what?"

"He was stricken. I am told he was the one with the weapon."

"The shots . . .he fired those first shots? The ones that started the . . ." John looked at his friend, who was staring back with wide disbelieving eyes. "Rodney," he said softly, "listen to me, let me untie you and we'll let Carson take a look at you, okay? Just let me . . ." he reached out carefully, flinching as Rodney tried to roll away, but the man apparently had little strength left. John touched his forehead. "He's burning up," he muttered, more for his own commentary than concern that the villagers would even care. "He was ill before he came, we should've kept him back home."

"Then take him now, before this madness spreads." Misner Caugh looked disgusted, and backed away, signaling for the others to do the same.

John had about four pages of unhelpful dialogue to spout at the man, most of which had to do with proper diplomacy and courtesy and the possible lineage of his mother, but he kept it in check. Instead he frowned and worried at the knots binding Rodney's wrists. "Hey buddy," he said gently, "you with me?"

"Me?" Rodney managed to croak. "Am I . . .you, you're . . ." he looked over where Sheppard's body had lain, where it had fallen after being riddled with bullets. Fevered eyes hazed over.

John grabbed the knife that lay on the ground and cut the ropes. He guided Rodney onto his back, not liking the way his eyes darted around him as though expecting an attack from all quarters. The eyes were bloodshot; he was trembling and sweating. John quickly radioed Atlantis while making Rodney comfortable, picked up his gun, and sat watch over his friend until help arrived.

The people grew tired of the show quickly. They walked off, offering a sparing glance but no assistance whatsoever.


	6. Chapter 6

"How is he?" John asked the next day. Rodney lay still, an IV attached to his arm. Around him the machines beeped rhythmically. 

"He's well enough now," Carson replied, resting one hand on Rodney's cool arm. He carefully tucked in underneath the blanket. "He's damned lucky."

"What was it?"

Beckett waved John over to a quiet corner. "Best I can say it was an allergic reaction of a sort. Something he ate exacerbated his illness, to the point where he was acting as though under the influence of a narcotic."

"He was high?"

"More like a hallucinogen."

"I guess that explains why they think he went crazy. That was the night he ate, and was ill . . ." John sighed and nodded. "He got sick, and I left him by the tree. I shouldn't have left him." He let his head thump back against the wall.

"You couldn't have known. Did he really fire a gun into the air?"

"I hope so. I mean, I hope it was into the air. No one was shot. It would explain what Ford heard, and why the people went nuts. He may have realized what he did and ran off, there's no telling. I'm not sure he'll remember it."

"Probably not. I wonder why he did it?"

"If he was hallucinating . . ."

"Aye. No telling what he thought he was aiming at."

"So now what?"

Carson consulted his chart. "He'll remain on the IV for the rest of the day. He'll have quite the headache for a while and placed on a restricted diet and limited activity until we can get his stomach healed properly. Add to that a touch of flu, probably from the rain, and I can guarantee he'll feel like crap for a few days." He gripped the top of the chart and let his arm to the side. "But I think there's something else." His postured had gone from typical doctor pose to one of open conversation.

"Yeah?" John frowned and shouldered himself off the wall. He pocketed his hands and listened.

Beckett glanced back toward his friend, who lay unmoving on the bed. "He was saying things." Carson leaned in closer. "He thinks you were killed right beside him, shot to death right there."

"What?"

"He says . . ." Carson shook his head, "he kept apologizing. He says you were wrong, that he was sorry he got you killed, I don't know. It was all babble. But something bad happened back on that planet, or at least he thinks it did."

John's brows were drawn tight. His gaze was pinned to the floor. "When can he talk?"

"I'll see what mood he's in when he wakes, and let you know. Right now his rest is more important. The talk can come later."

"Right." John sighed again, and looked back at the bed. "They were gonna kill him, Carson. Just because he was sick."

"Aye, but if he shot a gun in the air and went mad, can you blame them?" He waved away John's glare. "I'm not justifying their actions, son. For all their success in trade, they are a more primitive culture than we thought. It was not the best way to handle things, no, and you got him home."

"And if I hadn't?"

"I'd rather not think about it." Carson patted John on the arm. "I'll call you when he wakes up, all right?"

"Right. Think I'll go talk to Ford, see how he's doing." John glanced back at Teyla, also sleeping.

Carson smiled. "I was going to release her, but she came down with a minor infection. I'll call you when she wakes as well. She will be glad to see you."

"Ditto." John smiled and walked on.

The call came late that night, but it wasn't what he expected. First, there was the pounding on his door, which startled John out of his sleep. Next thing he knew his room was filled with one angry medical doctor, ready to explode. 

Carson marched in and didn't stop, stationed himself in the center of the room, and stayed there while John orbited in confusion. "You," Carson said in a low voice, "you damned . . .bastard!"

That stopped John in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

"I cannot believe it! I refuse to believe you would treat Rodney that way, I don't care how much he grates on your nerves, but . . ." he tried to calm himself. "I told him it didn't happen. I told him he was ill, that he . . .but to just ridicule him like that? And you knew the man was taken ill! What the hell were you thinking?"

John stared. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The jungle, when you found Rodney, that's what!"

John took a step closer. "Carson," he said firmly, "I found Rodney on his knees with a knife to his throat."

"Och, gun to his head, do you mean?"

John walked forward. "Knife to his throat! Trust me, it's an image I haven't been able to shake yet! What's he saying? No, wait, I thought you said he was hallucinating?"

"I wasn't there, Major!"

"No, you weren't, were you!" John pulled out a chair. "Now sit!"

"I'm not a bloody dog!"

"And I don't deserve this ass-chewing! Now sit!"

Carson glared, then calmed himself by breathing deeply, and sat.

"Now start at the beginning, as you know it."

Carson's eyes fell to the floor as he collected his thoughts. When he looked up, most of the anger had gone. "He said you found him in the jungle, and everything was good, considering his condition. But then you began to berate him. He said you didn't want him on the team, that he was a liability, and that you were tired of cleaning up after his mistakes. You said . . .whatever else you said, I can't even remember . . .he feels worthless." Carson looked up. "He doesn't want to see you. Apparently you hit him where it counts. He's hurting, Major."

John stared. "What he thinks I said – When did this happen?"

"When you found him in the jungle. He was ill, and you wouldn't even help him." Carson still sounded angry, but underneath there was a plea. Don't let this be true.

John shook his head rapidly in denial. "No, nonono, that's not it." He sighed and turned away, running his hand through his thick hair. "Dammit, I searched for him, and that storm came. I never found him in the jungle. I didn't even see him until he was back in the village and those people had him on his knees with a knife to neck, and I have no idea how he got there!"

"He called you a liar."

"Carson," Sheppard gritted his teeth and clenched his fist in frustration. He knelt down before the man, "do you honestly think I would do that to him?"

Not much analysis was required. "No," Carson said softly, "I don't suppose I do. But he does. And I'm sorry, but I had to be certain."

John gave a nod, his face falling. He gripped the arms of the chair, but didn't stand. "So you think maybe he was hallucinating the whole thing?"

Carson nodded thoughtfully. His face was still tense. "But to hallucinate something of that nature . . ." his eyes widened expressively as he sighed, "it shows that there are apparently some underlying issues that the two of you need to resolve."

John gave a sigh of his own. "Well, that might be a little hard if he won't talk to me."

Carson shrugged. "He's not going anywhere. May not have much choice."

"I thought you said his rest was more important."

"I didn't know we would be confronted with the likes of this." He rose. "I apologize, John, truly. He was going on so much, and it just . . .he's so certain."

John noticed the circles under the doctor's eyes. "First Teyla, now Rodney. Have you slept?"

"Not much."

"Who's in the office?"

"Dr. Briggs."

"Then I'm making a medical order of my own. Get some rest. I'll look in on Rodney."

"Major, I'm not sure that's . . ."

"This needs to be dealt with, and the sooner the better."

Carson agreed. "I should be there, though, in case he becomes overwrought."

"Then we better go, because you have a date with your pillow."

The meeting didn't happen. Right as they entered the corridor that led to the infirmary, Carson was called to Dr. Morris' quarters. John lingered for a moment after the emergency medical staff hurried off, and looked in on his friend. Rodney was awake, thank god, and staring at the ceiling. He would blink on occasion, his lashes seeming disturbingly long. John realized it was because he was staring at the scientist, watching his every move, his every breath, trying to read him. A coldness crept over him as he studied the set of Rodney's jaw, and the way the ever-moving hands clenched slightly, then unclenched and picked at the blanket. Maybe now wasn't a good time.

John moved on.

Rodney was released the next day with nothing to do. Carson had made him promise not to go to the lab for the day, to instead sit on a balcony somewhere with a book. It was the most repugnant thing he could imagine doing, but he found himself leaning back in a chair with a book in his hand, not reading, but staring out over the sea.

John had been watching him for a full five minutes before swallowing his pride and intruding.  
"You need some shorts, or at least take off your shoes," he said, casually walking to the rail. "Though I admit the best way to fight off the Wraith just might be to show them your Day-Glo legs." He looked thoughtful as he leaned on one elbow. "On the other hand, you're even paler than they are. Just grow your hair out, dye it, and you can sneak on their ship and get us some useful intel. How about it?"

"Who told you I was here?"

"Carson."

"Damn him, then. Go away, I'm busy."

"You look it." He pulled up a chair, overlooking the fact that Rodney scowled and shifted as though to get away. "So, you want to tell me what happened out there?"

Rodney had picked up his book. "No."

John realized he was not only throwing caution to the wind, but taking his life into his own hands as he yanked it away. "You sure?"

"Oh, that's just so childish! Look, I don't have time for this, just give it back!"

"No!" He pulled away as Rodney snatched for it.

"I said give it back!"

"Now who's being childish?"

"YOU are! Just . . ." he snatched at the object, his fingers just grazing the cover.

"Uh-uh. You can have it back after you talk. What is this anyway?" John tilted the spine towards him, "A hand guide to . . . I can't even pronounce this! What the hell is this? Light reading?"

"I'm using it for research, thank you." He reached out again, snatching at the cover. The jacket slid and ripped.

Both men looked at each other. John slowly handed the book back. "Sorry."

Rodney just sighed and pitched it to the grey floor between them. He stared at it.

John was quiet. The sadness and anger on Rodney's face was unmistakable, and he knew his friend really didn't want him there. And yet, he must have, or he would have driven him away in true McKay fashion. "Rodney . . ." he stopped and released his breath, looking out over the water.

"I really want to be alone."

John almost let him. He almost stood. "Carson told me what happened in the infirmary. Some of it, anyway."

"Did he." It was more an accusation than a question.

"Yeah."

"Good for him."

This clipped tone was supposed to be flooded with words. John found Rodney's lack of enthusiasm for speech troubling to say the least. He shifted in his chair to face him. "You realize what you saw, whatever it was, it didn't happen."

Rodney was staring out at the water. He slowly turned his head, incredulous. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that your magic cure? 'Oh, don't worry, it wasn't real'? That sucks, Major."

"Look, if you would just tell me . . ."

"What did Carson say to you?"

He had been hoping to skirt the issue. So he tried. "Rodney, I'm here. I'm alive. It was a sucky thing that you saw . . ."

"I'm talking about what you said, Sheppard. In the jungle. Was Carson good enough to avoid any patient/doctor confidentiality and spread the gospel of the military man and the hapless geek?"

"Dammit, Rodney, I wasn't there! How the hell am I supposed to know what happened? I wasn't there, I didn't say a damned thing, now stop accusing me and tell me what the hell is going on!" Rodney stood and braced himself on the railing. His hands clenched on the bars, unclenched, ran over the surface. He made a point of not looking at John, and John made a point of not getting up. "Listen," John continued, "it's your decision. You can either get over your ego and talk to me, or you can suffer alone. You're not the only one with important things to do."

Rodney glared over his shoulder. "You really are an ass. I've told you to go away, and you won't."

John said nothing. He let the point make itself.

"Dammit. You . . ." Rodney started, and almost laughed in desperation. "How can I trust you? I mean, I know that I was suffering from some sort of bad hallucinogen, like there's such thing as a good one, but it was real to me." He turned to John. "It was real. I can hear you say those things, and I can still see it in your eyes. I can see it because I've seen it there before, and I know what it looks like. And I have to wonder if I tapped in to something you're not telling me."

"What do you see?"

"Oh I don't know, a mirror of my own physical incompetence, maybe? Or maybe the way you roll your eyes when you know I'm right? Oh, maybe it's all the times we go off world and you pair me with someone else with disdain. I know I'm not the pick of the litter, but if you don't want to work with me all you have to do is say so!"

John shook his head in confusion. "Where did all this come from?"

"I mess up, okay? I may be a genius, but sometimes I get us in over our heads. You think I don't know this? You think I'm deaf and can't hear people talking about McKay's latest escapade? You think I haven't heard you instigating the conversations?" He swallowed hard and gripped the rail tightly. "In that jungle, you said I was a fuck-up and you were tired of cleaning up after me. Well, are you?"

John couldn't move. He didn't know how to fix this.

Rodney swallowed. "It was you," he said. "I mean, it was you. Only you would never say those things to me. Right?" The eyes that turned to his were suddenly heavy with need.

Now he understood. Every insecurity Rodney felt was made real in that jungle, and this was the only way he could confront it. "Look, I know we argue and all, but that's just who we are. I mean, that's what we are together. We – actually . . ." he sighed, not realizing such a simple talk would be so damned difficult. "Look, I want you on the team. Okay? Not just for your brain. I've come to think of you as a . . ." god he couldn't believe he was saying this, "as a friend." His body tensed, and he pointed an accusatory finger in Rodney's face. "This doesn't mean you get to gloat. It doesn't mean we're attached at the hip. It doesn't even mean I'll invite you to dinner. But to hang out, yeah, sure, and . . .talk." He stopped himself again, taking in the startled expression across from him. "I mean, we do seem to hang out a bit, huh?" he verified.

Rodney actually smiled. "Must be as hard for you to admit to friendship as it is for me."

"I think in this case it's just having to admit it to you," John groused, and turned on his chair to face the sea fully. He waited for a moment, then leaned over and picked up the small case he had brought with him. Angling the small table that sat between the two chairs, he opened the case and started to unload chess pieces.

Rodney watched, saying nothing as John set the board. Two closed fists were held out to him. Rodney hesitated, then tapped one. White king.

The sun bled into the water. It was picturesque, well, it would have been for Rodney if his stomach didn't churn at the waves rolling the color toward them. Still, it was worth sitting there just to soak up the moment. He had a feeling it wouldn't come again.

"It's amazing the crap I have to go through to get a simple validation from someone," he muttered.

"Didn't realize you were looking for one." John's eyes didn't meet Rodney's, but they didn't need to. "So . . .feel better now?"

Rodney groused and made his first move.

"Good."

The two colors blended before them, a mirage of the fiery sun cooling in the waters below.


End file.
